


cherry pain

by notslickchrome



Category: The Killers (Band)
Genre: M/M, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notslickchrome/pseuds/notslickchrome
Summary: Brandon Flowers is a famous country singer who's in Las Vegas for a good time at a rodeo, he gets a little bit more than he wants when he runs into Ronnie Vannucci, a millionaire with a taste for cowboys.
Relationships: Brandon Flowers/Ronnie Vannucci Jr.





	1. Chapter 1

He immediately caught my eye as soon as he walked through the door. Brandon Flowers, country music star and the only person on this planet who could look so good so underdressed. He knew what looked good on him while still staying on brand. His fitted flannel shirt, accented cowboy hat, and polished cowboy boots gave off the vibe of a humble country boy but also told everyone that they probably weren't worthy to talk to him.

"Who the hell is that guy?" Mark whispered.

I played with my whiskey glass nervously, "Brandon Flowers -- probably one of the most gorgeous yeehaws you'll ever meet."

Mark squinted at me, "ex-boyfriend?"

I laughed, "God, I wish -- I have never had a conversation with him longer than two minutes -- that doesn't matter anyway, I think he's straight."

Mark sipped his scotch suspiciously and I returned to eyeing Brandon. I saw my chance to speak when he wandered in front of us. "Hey, country boy!" I called. He didn't hear me, he seemed to busy making his western entrance to notice. "Brokeback!" I called once again.

He whipped around with an annoyed expression which softened after seeing me. He broke into his perfect boyish grin, "Vannucci?"

I couldn't help but return the smile, "Flowers!" I stood up and we shook hands as if I wasn't absolutely feening for him. Mark stood next to me and I introduced him as if I wasn't afraid that he might be dashing enough to make Brandon fall in love with him before me, "this is Mark, a friend of mine."

"Nice to meet ya' Mark!" Brandon greeted. If I could internally wince, that's what I was doing. His subtle accent made me realize just how easy it was to fall in love with him.

"Have a seat, man, we gotta catch up!" I insisted. Luckily for me, Brandon took a seat by Mark and me. "So what are you up to these days?"

Brandon shrugged, "I've got a show in a couple of days, saw there was rodeo going on and figured I'd stop by a little early."

I nodded eagerly and Mark looked at me absolutely horrified I was so thirsty for such a man. "Man, I'd love it if we got to catch up a little more," I cooed, igniting the judgment coming from my right-hand man.

Brandon grinned, once again proving his clothes said "humble", but everything else said otherwise. Perfect pearly whites, blinding me as he flashed them. "I'd really love to-- you still got a place here?"

"Of course."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you have a place everywhere."

"You know it, baby."

****

When Mark left was when everything began to unravel and I stopped holding back.

Brandon and I migrated to the bar. With his hat sat down so I could see his eyes and our knees touching every once in a while, I felt a buzz I hadn't before. After a few glasses of whiskey, it was as though we hit the resume button on the flirting we started years ago. I made sure to make him laugh-- not the shy little chuckle he humored everyone with-- the honky, suffocating laugh you have to beg for.

"God, Flowers, I've never met a someone with a laugh like yours," I chuckled after he recovered from his last laughing fit. I loved his laugh, it was such a contrast to his slow, rumbly western voice-- his laugh was like a suffocating hug in the best way possible.

"Yeah, I know, it sounds stupid," he sighed.

I took offense, "No! Hell no-- it's unique, that's what it is, it's genuinely special."

"Well, get used to hearin' it, 'cause you sure are one hell of a funny guy."

"Pleasure's all mine."

He took his bottom lip between his teeth and looked down at our knees bumping into each other again, "I gotta say, Ron-- no, no-- never mind, forget it."

"What? What is it?"

"It's nothin', it's stupid."

"Tell me."

He paused and shifted uncomfortably, still looking down and away from me. "Shit," he murmured in the most cowboy way I've ever heard then looked up at me, "you're sure as shit one of the most attractive men I've seen in my days."

My heart shook, but I couldn't lose my cool. I couldn't risk losing him, I had to reel him in immediately. "Huh, you must haven't looked in the mirror lately."

He winced and looked away again, "Vannucci, I don't know what you're doin' to me." We both stared down at our knees bumping into each other as I let him collect himself. "Not to sound desperate but-- holy hell, I've never wanted someone as much as you right now. Fuckin' sittin' here hard as a rock."

I felt like I was playing a video game where the character's dialogue was timed. I was the character and if I hit the wrong button, or if I was too late, I'd lose this opportunity. "Well-- what do you want me to do about to?"

He shifted, his relax fit jeans not so relaxed. "Hell, I dunno, I dunno what I want you to do to me-- so many goddamn things, I can't even think straight-- heh, that's funny -- can't think straight..."

His ever growing awkwardness and boner only egged me on, "I can't do anything if you don't tell me what you want, Flowers."

"Take me to your place -- fuck, take me to the bathroom, I don't give a damn anymore."

Before either of us could comprehend our action we were in the backseat of a van, buzzing. "Ronnie, lemme kiss you," he groaned.

"Not yet, baby boy," I grinned. Slowly, the tough cowboy act began to drop. He was speaking in a higher register now, his eyes looking as wide and doughy as ever.

"My parents warned me that people out here in the city are different-- wish I would've listened to 'em."

"You're so cute-- yes, us city folk like to wait a little."

****

I let Brandon into my house. "Can I get you anything to drink?" I offered, stepping in behind him. Quickly, he spun around and grabbed me by the collar, kissing me like he'd die if he didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke spooning a sleepy half-naked cowboy in a very rearranged bed. Being careful not to wake him, I slowly sat up. The cowboy hat that settled on the floor next to the bed was enough to tell me what happened the previous night. I tried my damndest not to snicker at what I had done -- I made sweet, sweet love with Brandon Flowers -- me, some dude who happened to buy a brand of instruments ten years ago.

I had to laugh.

In between my laughter, Brandon sturred next to me, making completely off-brand soft noises. When he finally awoke, I quickly turned away, of course, why did it matter? I had already fucked the guy, who cared about the implications of me staring at him as he slept?

Wait, did I fuck the guy? Did he fuck me? Why the hell couldn't I remember?

"Ronnie?" He gasped.

Oh shit, I guess it didn't matter considering the shock in the guy's voice.

"That's me," I nervously managed to chuckle.

"Ah shit, I promised myself I wouldn't do this again," he muttered sharply to himself, getting out of bed.

"Wait!" I exclaimed, a bit too desperate for my taste.

"What?" He grumbled, a stone cold expression settling on his face as he looked back at me.

His expression startled me, "I -- I don't know--" 

"Look, Ronnie," he sighed, "I can't do this. I can't be with a guy right now -- or any guy for that matter! I am so fucking sorry, I'm such an asshole -- it's just my image, my management -- Christ -- all sorts of stupid things."

I swallowed my disappointment, "yeah, sure, I get it."

He aggressively pulled on his pants, "God, I am such a fucking asshole! I can't tell you how sorry I am, you really are a great guy."

What the hell? That was my monologue, no one leaves me after a one night stand. "Well, you could at least stay for breakfast," I croaked.

He paused in the middle of buttoning up his shirt, "Well...I guess I at least owe ya that."

****

I was absolutely not the type of person to pull a Great Gatsby and flex my wealth in order to win the attention of a potential partner. Telling Brandon he could have anything he wants for breakfast, just ask my chief, wasn't flexing right? It certainly wasn't every single one of my designer shirts floating upon him.

"Well, well, Flowers -- I didn't take you as a fruit and oatmeal kind of guy," I said, sitting down across from him at my dining table. 

He looked up at me from just that -- a bowl of oatmeal sided with a smaller bowl of assorted berries -- a tall glass of orange juice to top it off. It was endearing, actually, to see a steak-and-eggs type of man have something more subtle. 

"I gotta keep in shape," he shrugged.

"I have a gym in the basement -- just take a left when you step out the elevator."

"You have a goddamn elevator?"

"Yeah, don't you remember from last night?"

"I ain't remember shit -- well, I remember some."

"What do you remember?"

He paused, "doesn't matter -- I-I don't have my gym clothes with me, but thanks for the offer."

Tragic. Both parts of the sentence were completely tragic. I wasn't completely certain in the way I was about to handle it, but it was the only way I knew how to, "c' mon, Flowers, I can tell you what I remembered."

He shifted, either in discomfort or he had also remembered our acts of passion. 

"I personally remember the elevator, I remember 'cause our mouths never left each other." He had stopped shifting was completely calm and collected -- casually spooning oatmeal into his mouth -- which was worse than the shifting. It felt as though he was ignoring me. "Yeah, we were both hard as rocks," I continued, almost mad that he was so calm. He didn't say anything in response, just continued on with his consumption of oatmeal. "--And then I fucked the living hell out of you."

He stabbed his fork into the assorted berries then looked up at me, "first of all, I fucked the living hell out of you."

Oh.

"Second of all," he continued, "you can't be talkin' about all this shit, alright? I already told you I can't be with you."

"We can't ignore what happened, Brandon."

"This was a mistake," he started to stand.

"You stay in that fucking seat, brokeback--"

"Make me."

"You'll let those berries go to waste."

Disgruntled, he sat back down and shoved a raspberry in his mouth. 

"I'm not making you love me, hell, I'm not even gonna make you fuck me again," I huffed, "it'd just be a shame to lose your friendship -- and that's all we have to be, friends."

Brandon stared at me expressionless as he chewed the raspberry. I wasn't going to let him know just how desperate for his existence I was, so I stayed just as expressionless.

"Okay, friends -- and that's all we'll ever be."


	3. Chapter 3

"What were your plans for today?" I asked Brandon as I walked him down my driveway to his ride.

"Go back to my hotel, take a shower, maybe a nap," he listed, "then maybe I might see a friend down on the strip, old rodeo buddy of mine..."

I don't know who the hell gave me the right to get jealous over a "rodeo buddy", but I was. "Huh, well," I finally managed to grunt out as Brandon hopped in the back of the car, "have a good one."

"Yeah, you too, Vannucci."

I hated the way he called me by my last name. It was a turn on the night before, it was a turn on during, but after? I'd rather he call me "kitten" or something nastier. "Well, by--"

He cut me off by slamming his door shut. He was one cold closet case -- but that still didn't stop me from being desperately attracted to him. I never thought I'd ever longingly watch an uber drive away, yet there I stood, pathetically in my driveway.

Bitterness coursed through my body as I stormed back into my house. It was too early to drink my sorrows away, so I called Mark -- who had just so happened to be getting ready for the perfect day time activity for my situation.

****

There I sat on a large boat, sipping on a mimosa, complaining to my most heterosexual friends about my problems. Eventually, both of us were just drinking pure champagne the further into my venting session we got.

"Fuck it!" I yelled, more tipsy than I thought. "I don't need no dirty cowboy!"

"Hell yeah!" Mark called after me. "Fuck that guy -- that guy you just spent two hours talking about how much you want everything to work out with him -- yeah!"

I walked over to the railing and looked out into the lake. Brandon was certainly, 100 percent, not someone I should ever be catching feelings for -- closet case cowboy? Hell no. I was a successful business man with connections everywhere. More money than Brandon could ever dream of writing dumb country songs.

I looked away from the water for a moment to keep myself from getting nauseous. My eyes settled on the spot directly near me, as I steadied myself-- I saw him. I saw him hatless next to me, holding a beer in one hand as he leaned over the railing, his warm hazel eyes squinting over the water -- his blue jeans hugging his hips -- he'd have his shirt stripped off, his entire torso free for me to nestle my hand on --

I yakked right over the boat.

"Whoa!" Mark cried rushing over to me, pulling me away from the railing and leading me back to where we were sitting. "Holy shit, Ronnie, I didn't know you were that drunk!"

I was about to argue that I wasn't, but stopped as I began to sob. So, I was drunk -- drunk and insanely stupid. I was catching real feelings for a closet-case-cowboy I had a one night stand with -- how sad and pathetic. I was lucky to have Mark there to hold me through my bullshit even if the sun was beating down on us and I was disrupting his peaceful day on the water.

"Mark, I'm gonna die alone at this rate," I croaked.

"No you're not, you're Ronnie Vannucci -- you'd never let something like this get to you."

I pulled out of his arms, "I appreciate that, Mark -- but I'm about to prove you wrong."

****

Alone in my house was worse than vomiting off a boat. I almost asked Mark to stay, I felt so damned lonely, but I felt ashamed as I had already asked so much from him.

I was completely alone. Three stories of house and one guy -- even the cook was gone.

As I laid in my bed, mindlessly watching T.V., As much as I really didn't want to and really shouldn't have, I began to wonder how much less empty the house would feel if Brandon lived in it with me -- if he woke up next to me -- if used the gym downstairs every day.

God, I couldn't fucking stand it.

Maybe I was still a little drunk, but I didn't see any harm in calling him. I just needed to talk to him, maybe if I had just talked to him I'd realize that my feelings were absolutely nothing.

With each ring, I grew more angry and anxious, and too the point where I couldn't tell the difference between the two. I didn't know what I'd do if it went to voicemail, so luckily for me, on the last ring he picked up.

"Hello?" He answered, his voice even lower and more rich than I remembered.

"Hi...Brandon..." I managed, sounding more like a desperate teenage girl than a multimillionaire, "it's me -- Ronnie."

"Oh hey-- what's up?"

"Fuck-- I don't know, I've just been thinking..."

"I'm gonna stop you right there. You heard what I said this morning, correct?"

"Yes."

"Just friends, Vannucci, that's all."

"I fucking hate it when you call me my last name!"

Silence. Panic quickly settled in, "shit, sorry-- it's just been a really weird day."

"No, it's fine-- shit," he sighed, "maybe I'm too harsh on you, it's just so bad out here, bein' in this industry -- this side of the industry especially -- just really makes you hate anything 'abnormal' about you. I don't know what'd happen if everyone found out -- found out about the truth. I really don't wanna hurt you, Ronnie, that's why I'm tryin' to get away from you."

I didn't know who I felt more sorry for, me or him. "I get it, Brandon, I'm sorry."

"No! No, don't be sorry -- it's on me, I shouldn't have fucked around in the first place -- fuck! I know deep in my heart I should just be free and like whoever I like, but God, Ron you should hear some of the shit I hear," he went silent for a moment, "everyone out here's such a piece of shit, Ron, you got fake poptarts in fuckin' trucker hats tellin' you you ain't a real and that you're just a pretty face. You're the first person I've talked to in weeks who's not a piece of shit. Fuck it! Can I come over? I wanna see you -- I don't wanna fuck around, I just wanna see you."

His monologue gave me more emotional whiplash than what could fit in my tiny, drunk brain. All I knew was he wanted to see me and I wanted to see him too -- whether that conclusion was drawn from a good place or not didn't matter. I smiled to myself, "see you then."


	4. Chapter 4

The Brandon at my door was not the Brandon I was expecting. The luxurious cowboy I had seen at the bar must have been left at the hotel, because the man standing in a hoodie and jeans was nearly unrecognizable. Nearly. A part of me wished he was unrecognizable, then maybe all the nonsense feelings I felt would simmer down into nothing.

"Hey," I simply said.

He didn't say anything, he just flung himself at me and let out a heartbreaking-sob. I felt myself sober up from whatever buzz was left in my system. I shut the door behind him and just...held him there. It was hard to process that I was holding Brandon Flowers, the best physical representation of masculinity I've ever come across, together in my arms. With each sob, my chest clenched in sorrow.

He suddenly pulled away from me, wiping the snot and tears away with his hoodie's sleeve, "I'm so fucking sorry," he managed, "I didn't wanna do that, I just feel so-- hopeless right now." He shook his head and attempted to wipe away more tears. Eventually, he just left an arm over his eyes, "I just got to thinking. Just thinkin' about how lonely I am and wonderin' if I'm ever gonna find love if I keep workin' the way I do where I do. I met up with my friend earlier and he said they found out he was gay and they wouldn't let him rodeo anymore-- shit, Ron, I don't know if you understand how different this scene is. It's something else."

"Holy shit man, all you do is ride cows in rodeo, who cares if you ride cock?"

He laughed dryly and took his arm off his eyes, whatever light and warmth I had fixated on before had gone. He looked up and let out a deep breath. "Ronnie, I remember all of last night. When I slip up-- and I let all this get a hold of me again -- I just pretend like I was too drunk to remember, but I remember."

I gulped, God, I wished I remembered exactly what the hell happened between us. I took it for granted because, drunkenly, I believed it would happen again.

He looked at me and it was hard to ignore the tug in my chest. "You made me feel so good last night, I didn't feel ashamed afterward, I felt safe."

"I, uh, wanna keep making you feel safe."

What the hell was I saying? Was I even ready for a relationship, especially with someone who wasn't fully comfortable with themself? How could I help someone like that if I wasn't even comfortable myself?

Before I could fully panic, Brandon wrapped his arms around me and held me tight, his head resting on my shoulder. I could feel his nose brush against my neck. I wanted to keep him safe but I didn't know if I could keep him safe.

He started crying again, I could feel it on my skin this time. For a moment I thought that we could stay like that forever, well, if forever was what it took to make him stop feeling the hurt he did, then so be it.

He pulled away from me, still crying, his face twisting up in pain, what was probably the complete opposite of what I saw in the bar the previous night. I cupped his face in my hands and brushed my thumbs across his perfect, beautiful cheekbones, wiping away his tears-- or at least attempting to. He closed his eyes while grabbing my wrists and tilted his head down. I loosened my grip and he took a deep breath.

"Ronnie, I'm sorry but I don't know how to feel about this," he mumbled, "it feels so right, I've never had anything feel right."

"Brandon, you deserve all the right things in the world, honestly, even if our time has been short, I've never felt this way before."

He kept his gaze down and I kept my hands on his face. I could hear his breath staggering, the way breathing does when you're sobbing, and it was soul crushing. I didn't even think I had a soul.

"You feel it too?" He suddenly whispered. "Like I said, I felt safe with you and I've never felt that way with anyone else-- tell me you feel that too."

I paused. Was I ready to give up my lifestyle of hook-ups and anyone I wanted? Was I really ready to give that all of for the man falling apart in my hands? Was I fucking ready at all?

"I feel it too," I spoke. At least I wanted to and was ready to feel it. In that moment, I would have given up the whole world for Brandon. I also felt fucking crazy in that moment. On the occasion I pictured the man I'd settle down with, I didn't picture us meeting multiple times until we both got drunk and hooked up. I didn't picture him in the closet. I didn't picture it being unsafe for him to be out. I didn't picture that one cute cowboy, Brandon Flowers, that's for fucking sure.

"Okay," he breathed out and looked up, "okay then. That's good to know-- Ron, shit, this is so fucking scary, but I wanna try. I want to try this."

I almost cried as well, "and I'll keep you safe. I'll try to, Brandon, you deserve that much."

He smiled at me and I just had to kiss him.

****

Brandon and I made our way to separate couches in the nearest living room eventually. We spent the night talking about our time in Vegas. Though I spent most of my time in my Vegas residence, I could never claim to love it as much as Brandon. He talked about each detail carefully and with his entire heart. I wanted to see the whole world the way he saw Vegas because he saw everything about it in such untainted beauty.

"Hell, you're probably bored as shit," he chuckled finishing up one of his stories working as a bellhop at the Gold Coast Hotel.

I laughed, "are you kidding? I haven't been this entertained in years."

He stretched and sighed, "thank God, 'cause this was wonderful." He rubbed his face, "I don't wanna go back to my hotel, Ron, I wanna stay here. I wanna stay here forever. On this damned couch if I have to."

"You're more than welcome to stay, you don't have to stay on that couch either, there are six bedrooms to choose from. I can lend you some clothes tonight and we can pick up your stuff tomorrow."

"Six bedrooms? I might as well sleep in all of 'em to see which I like best."

"Sure, if that's what you want."

He sat up and smiled at me, "damn, six whole bedrooms and I wanna sleep in yours."

I grinned at him, "I'd love that."

****

We made our way up to my bedroom where we ended up at my closet and I picked out some clothes for him to sleep in.

"This is gonna sound dumb as hell, Ron, but I've always wanted to do this," he chuckled.

"Do what?" I questioned.

"Share a guy's clothes. As a teen, whenever I liked a guy all I could think about was wearing his flannel."

I turned to him holding a t-shirt and sweats, "that's adorable, Brandon."

He blushed and accepted the clothes, "I've never told anyone that before."

I needed someone like him. Someone to remind me of the purity of freshly coming to terms with being who you are. "I'm sure I have a flannel, you can have it if you want."

"Only if you wear it first."

****

Brandon changed in the bedroom's bathroom as I laid in bed wondering how I was going to tell Mark about this night. Did I tell him about holding Brandon's face as he cried? Did I tell him about the way I caught him smelling the clothes I gave him? Did I tell him Brandon's little stories?

The bathroom door opened and Mark was just going to have to find out what he finds out. I never pictured Brandon in my clothes but it was exactly what I needed. Even if it was just a t-shirt and sweatpants, he wore it better than I ever could.

He turned off the bathroom light and made it to the bed where he slowly laid under the covers with me. "I've never just laid in bed with another man before-- sober, with no other intentions. Do we-- cuddle?"

"We can cuddle," I chuckled, "if that's what you want, that is. Big spoon or little spoon?"

"Little spoon," he answered softly. He turned to his side and I gladly took him into my arms. Quite frankly, it had been a while since I just held a man and did nothing else-- and it was nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cowboy brandon lives rent free in my head


End file.
